together on the holidays. They usually opted for Mexican or Thai rather than the insipid traditional stuff, but the shots of Jack deep into the night were a memorial to Hank. The first Christmas after his death had been depressing, but they'd gotten through it. They'd cracked a lot of lame jokes, clenched their teeth, tossed back the whiskey, and faced it down together.
He had no idea how he was going to face it down alone.
The swishy guy in the store window was arranging the pilgrim maiden's long yellow hair. Seth was comparing the Dynel floss to the warm gold of Raine's hair when the idea came to him. The perfect way to get through Christmas unscathed.
He could kidnap Raine and take her away to the coast with him. Find a hotel room with an ocean view and a Jacuzzi tub and spend the whole holiday in an endorphin-induced haze. Ply her with champagne, hand-feed her oysters on the half shell in between bouts of hot, juicy sex while rain pounded against the window, and surf pounded on the shore. White foam surging across the sand in sensual, rhythmic pulses.
Hell, yes. He almost shouted with glee. That would be one righteous mother of a distraction. Jesse would have been proud of him. He could persuade her. He could play her like an instrument. She was so sweet, so affectionate. It would be awesome. He could hardly wait. He got so excited, thinking about it, that for a minute or two, he completely forgot what the hell he was here for.
Jesse, Lazar, Novak. Bloody retribution. Christ, what was he thinking. Everything was subject to this investigation. Everything.
Still, a part of his mind clung stubbornly to the idea of himself and Raine, the hot tub, the pounding surf. Maybe he could get this fucking nightmare wrapped up by then, and Christmas at the coast with her could be his reward. Assuming he lived through it.
Horns blared. Someone howled an obscenity. The light was green, and he was still staring at the pilgrim maiden's vacuous smile. He laid his foot on the gas and forced himself to remember what Jesse's body had looked like when Novak was done with him.
Just the image to shake a guy's priorities right back into place.
“Can you wait for me?” Raine asked the cabbie. “I won't be long “
The cabbie slumped down in his seat and rummaged for a paperback book. 'The meter's gonna be running “ he informed her.
“That'll be fine,” she assured him.
She rechecked the Lynnwood address on the scrap of paper and walked slowly up to the bungalow. She rang the bell. The door opened and a white-haired woman peered out from behind the chain. “Yes?”
“Dr. Fischer?”
That would be me.”
“I’m Raine Cameron. I called you this morning regarding the autopsy report of Peter Lazar.”
The older woman hesitated, and unhooked the chain. “Come in.”
The doctor seated her in a little parlor, and brought out coffee and a plate of sugar cookies. She sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.
“So, Ms. Cameron,” she said briskly. “How can I help you? I would have been happy to answer your questions on the phone.”
“I didn't have the privacy I needed, unfortunately. I want to ask a few questions about this report.” She fished out the manila envelope that the Severin Bay Coroner's office had sent her.
The doctor's eyebrows snapped together as she scanned the sheets of paper inside. “This was pretty clear and straightforward, as I recall. It was ruled an accident. I remember it quite well. I was the only doctor in the area who had a specialization in pathology, so I was called upon to do autopsies in surrounding communities fairly often. We didn't have many incidents of suspicious death in a place as small as Severin Bay, though. They tended to stick in one’s memory.”
“Do you remember actually doing the autopsy?” Raine asked.
“Yes. It was all just as the report states. Toxicology samples indicate that he'd been drinking heavily. There was a blow to the back of the head, presumably from the boom of the sailboat There was a nasty storm that afternoon, and we've all seen that happen. There was water and air mixed in the lungs, and water in the stomach. Indicating that he did indeed drown, if that’s what you're wondering.”
Raine searched for words. “Was there any reason to think that the death could have been ... anything other than an accident?”
The doctor's lips thinned. “If there was, I certainly would have indicated it in the report.”
“I'm not questioning your professionalism,” Raine assured her. “I'm just, well—is
“I suppose theoretically that someone could have hit him,” the doctor said grudgingly. “But several eyewitnesses saw him leave Stone Island alone, and the blow didn't break the skin. I can't imagine that there would be any corresponding mark on an aluminum boom. Particularly since the boat was capsized for hours afterwards.”
Raine placed her barely nibbled cookie on the saucer, fighting down the clench and roll of impending nausea. She rose to her feet, hanging on to her control. If she were going to have a panic attack, she certainly didn't want an audience. “I appreciate you giving me your time like this, Dr. Fischer,” she said faintly. “I'm sorry if my questions seemed out of place.”
“Quite all right.” Dr. Fischer followed Raine back to the foyer and took her coat out of the closet. She handed the coat to Raine, and started to speak. She stopped herself, shaking her head.
Raine froze, halfway into her coat. “What?”
The doctor twisted her hands in the pockets of her cardigan. “I don't know if this is relevant, or useful to you. But you're not the only one who was interested in the results of that report.”
Raine froze into place, forgetting that her arms were twisted behind her into the sleeves of her coat. Dr. Fischer reached out and took the coat lapels, pulling until the coat sat straight upon Raine's shoulders. She gave Raine a little pat, as if she were a child. “Two FBI agents came to me, asking very much the same questions as you did. They seemed frustrated that Peter Lazar had gotten himself drowned. Convinced that I didn't know my job. Arrogant jerks, both of them.”
Raine tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. “What did they want from Peter Lazar?”
“Well, they weren't sharing any details with me, but there was a good bit of rumor and speculation at the time.”
“About what?”
The doctor's face tightened, as if she regretted opening up the can of worms. “Oh, the wild goings-on out at Stone Island, among other things. The place was aptly named, they say, for the quantity of drugs that went through the place. There were some truly legendary parties out there. Very few local people were ever invited, but everyone loved to tell tales. Most of it sheer nonsense, I'm sure, but you know how people are. And Alix made a splash, with her glamorous wardrobe and her celebrity attitude. Everyone loved to gossip about her.”
“Did you know her?” Raine asked cautiously.
“By sight,” the doctor said with a shrug. “She got her medical care in the city.”
Raine hesitated. “Those agents,” she ventured. “Do you remember their names?”
Dr. Fischer's eyes crinkled up. “You're in luck. The card they gave me got sucked into the void years ago, but I remember one of the names just because it was similar to that of an old college boyfriend of mine. Haley was the older one. Bill Haley.”
Raine reached out and clasped the other woman's hand. “Thank you. You've been very kind.”
The doctor squeezed her hand, but did not let go of it. She held on, staring at Raine's face with focused concentration until Raine began to fidget. “I take it your identity is a deep, dark secret?”
Raine opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
The doctor touched the heavy blond braid that lay on Raine's shoulder. “You really should have cut and dyed your hair, dear.”
“How did you—how—”
“Oh, come now. Who else would take such an interest in Peter Lazar, at this late date?” the doctor said gently. “Besides, you’re the image of your mother. Though you strike me as... warmer, somehow.”
